


A Scene in a Hospital

by vintage_hippie23 (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7119577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/vintage_hippie23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I think we all remember that scene in Winter Soldier when Steve slams Natasha into a wall. Well, here's a little, smuttier re-do of that scene. As requested by one of my favorite people, Sakshi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Scene in a Hospital

**Author's Note:**

  * For [multi-fandom-crazy-fangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=multi-fandom-crazy-fangirl).



The nurses pay him no mind and the doctors have more important things to do. 

And, he has little time to think about the fact that when he doesn't have a star splashed across his chest and that metal shield in his hand, nobody recognizes him. Despite his size, and his notoriety as Captain America, Steve Rogers is a nobody. And, he couldn't be happier about that, right now. It means the squeak of his running shoes goes unnoticed and nobody sees the blue eyes hidden in the shadows of his hood. 

It means, nobody pays attention when he stops in front of the vending machine, looking for the dull glint of the secret he hid there, earlier. The thumb drive entrusted to him by Fury. But, there's nothing there. The slot is empty. 

Shit. 

If that thumb drive was taken by some by-stander, innocent or not, his ass was as good as dead. He's two seconds away from freaking the hell out when she appears behind him, gum snapping between pearly white teeth. 

It doesn't take a genius.

Snaps into place like gum between teeth. She came behind him and took it. Probably followed him and watched him put it in there. His jaw tightens and he slowly spins on his heel. She looks for all the world like she did nothing wrong. And, maybe in her mind, she didn't but frankly, he's sick of being lied too, and she isn't helping. Without even really considering what he's doing, he grabs her bicep and drags her across the hall. He kicks the door open and shoves her inside. 

He grabs both of her arms, leather bunching in his fingers, and shoves her none too gently against the wall. His voice is low, dangerous, and his question is simple. "Where is it?" 

"Safe." 

Well, that just pisses him off. 

In a decidedly non-gentleman like manner, his fingers tighten around her bicep and he gives a shake, sneering on a forced breath. "Do better." 

Natasha seems sufficiently shaken after that and he can hear a slight tremor in her voice as she asks him, seemingly insulted that he would think she's lying. "Where did you get it?" 

"Why would I tell you?" 

"Fury gave it to you." oh, you want pissy Steven, fine. "Why?" 

"What's on it?" he rushes to change the subject - the fact that Fury was in his apartment needn't be mentioned until absolutely necessary. 

"I don't know." she shrugs. And, this is one time, she's telling the truth. She may have been Fury's favorite, though he denies it, but he keeps his secret close to his chest. 

"Stop lying!" 

It's a rough snarl, and she understands. He thinks - mistakenly, and she intends to tell him so - that her and Fury keep secrets from him. Which, yes, there are secrets that nobody knows but her and that nobody but Fury know. But, there was never a moment in which keeping something from him wasn't strictly necessary. And, she would never want to hurt him by making him think she kept things from him on purpose. 

"I only act like I know everything, Rogers." Natasha informs him icily. 

She's really had enough of his bullshit. 

And, that's really all it is. He gets mad when he thinks people keep things from him but the truth is, if you asked him, he probably wouldn't tell you about his past. Not that she wanted to know, if he didn't want to tell her but Steve could be a hypocrite. 

The rattle of a moving hospital bed snaps Steve's attention to the door. He checks to make sure they aren't being listened in on before posing his next question; "I bet you knew Fury hired the pirates, didn't you?" 

She fumbles for a moment, processing the information, before offering him the only explanation she can come up with; "Well it makes sense. The ship was dirty, Fury needed a way in, so do you." 

"I'm not gonna ask you again." Steve growls, giving her another shake. 

"I know who killed Fury." Natasha's barely breathless, not fazed at all by Steve's temper. She's seen worse - knows a scientist who can attest to this. "Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists." and, she does mean most. Three years of flooding the CIA with evidence still didn't have them convinced. S.H.I.E.L.D is the only one who really believes the evidence. "The ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years." 

His face is pinched with confusion, skepticism, and he readily voices it. "So, he's a ghost story?" 

"Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Somebody shot at my tires near Odessa." Natasha's not one for story telling but frankly, she's starting to feel more than a little aroused by angry Steve. "We lost control, went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out." her tone shifts, that spooky element found in all good thrillers dripping from every word. "But the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer so he shot him, straight through me." she lifts the hem of her jacket and shirt revealing a triangle of smooth torso, married by an angry silver scar, puckered and pink around the edges where the skin had seered from the heat of the bullet. "Soviet slug, no rifling." she smirks a little, and adds, "Bye-bye bikinis." 

Steve's eyes darken considerably and he scoffs at the very notion. Natasha Romanov could wear a damn paper bag and still make supermodels look like shit. Of course, Steve, being the little shit that he is, lets a little sarcasm slip into his voice; "Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now." 

Natasha grins; well, more like offers a sly smirk. 

In the seconds that follow, Steve's dark look seems to raise the ambient temperature considerably and Natasha is considering shedding her jacket. It feels a bit too warm, now. And, it all sort of just goes down hill from there; that familiar ache throbs between her legs, the friction of her tight pants a little more noticeable than before, and how shallow her breathing goes would be alarming if Steve's own breathing wasn't faster. 

And, if there wasn't a tent in his pants. 

"Steve..." 

He tilts his head down, breath hot and damp in her ear; "Be quiet." 

His hands find her thighs and lift her up, letting her wrap her legs around his waist. Her hands fist each flap of his jacket near the top where it's still unzipped. He pushes her back into the wall and moves his hips just enough to slide the hard ridge of his erection against her. She clenches her teeth around a pained whimper because _dammit_ this man liked to tease. 

A little harder, a little nudge, and _drag_. 

Natasha bites her lip, this time. He thrusts his hips, fingers digging into her thigh, and his erection is nestled between them, pressing against her and he can feel her heat, can only imagine, she's dripping beneath her jeans and panties. Can only imagine how good it would feel to let her sink down onto him and engulf him in wet heat and clenching muscles. Let her throb and writhe against him. 

She tangles her fingers in his hair and yanks him down for a bruising kiss, effectively swallowing the groan that's caught in his throat. There's a certain thrill in hearing the intercom buzz with nurses calling for doctors, the rattle of hospital bed, and the soft squeak of rubber shoes on a tile floor. In knowing they could be caught at any moment. 

It's that thrill, that fear of being caught that drives them. That speeds him up to an almost frantic pace; pushing and rubbing and bruising kisses. There will be bruises on her thighs, she's certain, but she just _doesn't care_. 

It happens in a rush of heat and muscles clenching and she pulls away from his kiss, her head tilting back against the wall as her bruised mouth opens in a silent scream. Steve's never seen Natasha lose control and it gives him that push he needs. He's soon following her over that edge, jerking his hips erratically. When they're sated and breathless, he releases her thighs and moves away from her. 

"Going after him is a dead end. I know, I've tried." Natasha continues on as if they didn't just grind like horny teenagers in a dark, empty hospital room. She pulls the flash drive out of her pocket and holds it up for Steve to see. "Like you said, he's a ghost story." 

Steve's larger hand wraps around hers as he takes the drive and jerks his head toward the door. 

"Well, let's find out what the ghost wants." 


End file.
